


One, Two, Three

by Ambiguous (Roomies)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, Crying, Cunnilingus, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Genital Torture, Language, Masturbation, Morphophilia, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Size Difference, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roomies/pseuds/Ambiguous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greyback decides to have fun with Hermione, before delivering her to Voldemort on that fateful day.  Includes some copied text from actual Harry Potter book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three

Fenrir Greyback liked children. To make a perfect cake, you started with raw ingredients, blending together to make your flavor; with armies, it was the same in concept. Greyback started with children because children had yet to develop any real grasp of the world around them. Taint their blood with aggression and animal instinct, throw them into a world of abuse, pain, and nightly hunts, and eventually, they will become the animals they needed to be.

This worked almost one hundred percent of the time on male victims. Their body’s natural testosterone blended beautifully with the werewolf pathogen, creating big and strong werewolves. But the female ones… predicting how they’d turn out always was a game of chance. Some of them were as aggressive as their male counterparts, eager to shed blood, rape, pillage, and do the worst deeds to whomever they fell upon during their moon cycle. Many of them, though, would be any which way from a scared victim, terrified of her own mind, to a self-styled vigilante justice, hunting down the males and killing them in some misguided search for redemption. Females were always so interesting, and Greyback couldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy the waiting game. God only knows, he enjoyed the whole transformation process, starting back when their blood was still pure, and their virginity intact.

 _This_ young woman was definitely not the sort of woman who’d adapt to the werewolf lifestyle. Her spells were powerful and well thought out; she weaved a perfect blend of protections, distractions, and slight offensives to send any man or wolf wandering away from her, unaware they’d even crossed paths. She was physically fit, and, as Greyback realized that it must have been her charm that altered her own friend’s face into something unrecognizable, she held her own mentally as well.

Intelligence, beauty, and a spice of sexual pheromones emitting from her… the girl was just that sort of girl he was going to have to try out, to see how well she’d adapt to the lifestyle of a wolf.

"All right!" said Scabior. "All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?"

"Might as well take the lot. We’ve got two Mudbloods, that’s another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small fortune right there."

The crowd roared and the prisoners whimpered. A few wolves started to step forward, but Greyback raised his hand and stopped them in their tracks. Scabior, who was recently so loud, was looking at Greyback with that same doe-eyed look of awe he almost always wore. Greyback hated that look.

"We’re not taking them right away," Greyback spoke quietly, so that only Scabior could hear him. The rest of the werewolves were excited – and rightfully so – to have possibly caught the Dark Lord’s personal rival, Harry Potter. "The thought of Lestrange having the first go at their flesh makes me sick. She don’t know how to properly make them scream anymore. Azkaban made her soft."

Scabior had a look of surprise on his face. “The Dark Lord will turn his wrath on _you_ if he don’t have a go at ‘em first.”

"That’s not true," Greyback frowned as he spoke, imagining the noseless dark wizard having the first run with _her_. She was so beautiful. “He don’t have no pecker, just like his nose. It’s gone. Besides, he’ll be wanting ‘The Boy-Who-Lived’. I doubt that sweet thing is even a concern.” He then smiled. His brown lips, already cracked, starting bleeding as a scab was suddenly reopened. “Besides, if they’re not Harry Potter, that lot will Crucio them for a few hours and then kill them. They won’t have no fun. He’s on a mission, and useless kids won’t distract them long.”

Scabior looked as though he was seriously considering the options, before nodding to his leader.

"But don’t we need her, to prove it?"

Greyback’s smile returned, only twice as wide, and twice as menacing. “I’ll be right behind you.” He then turned back to the crowd, suddenly eager to be alone. “Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Granger!” said Greyback, grabbing a fistful of Hermione’s hair. Scabior grabbed Harry Potter’s, his face a perfect expression of anxiety. “On three! One—Two—Three!”

The other werewolves Disapparated, taking the prisoners with them. Hermione clearly preferred to go with them. When she realized that Greyback wasn’t going anywhere, her breathing became rapid.

Greyback didn’t need to tell Hermione what was coming. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, a small quiver inflicting her lips as she struggled with her fear. Greyback knew she was all magic and no physical might, so he tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her off the ground by it. Her feet dangled a moment before she started kicking them slightly, crying at the pain.

"You need me!" She desperately played her cards too early. "Nobody will believe you without me!"

"I only need five minutes to make you scream, love. They won’t miss me for that long."

With that, he dropped her to the ground and whipped out his wand. He waved it at her. Unarmed and clearly shaken, Hermione was unable to block the nonverbal Confundus spell. At full power, this would leave any subject too confused to even register physical pain; at the nonverbal level, it would still confused the victim, but leave her aware, at least, of physical sensation. Fenrir knew it would work. He’d done it before.

Greyback used his wand to flip Hermione over. She screamed, fighting the air. Greyback was impressed; she still had enough wit to register an attack. But it wasn’t going to help her. He flicked his wand and Hermione went flying into the side of the tent. A muggle structure would have crumbled, but Hermione just rolled underneath the flaps and into the cold air of Dean’s Forest. Greyback ran after her.

The air was bitter, but Greyback like it that way. He walked past a few werewolves who’d stayed behind, unaware of the excitement from moments before. They eyed him as he strode over to Hermione, who was climbing to her knees and stumbling around, trying to figure out which way she needed to run. They knew what was coming, and Greyback was proud to see a few of them leaning towards him, excited for the show.

"Crucio!" Greyback yelled, aiming at Hermione’s back. She fell to her knees, curling up into a ball and screaming in pain. Greyback had felt the curse once or twice himself – it was nasty bit, making you feel a sort of pain you couldn’t really describe; it wasn’t burning, it wasn’t cutting, it wasn’t biting… it was just the worst thing you would ever feel in your life. Knowing that the little girl was feeling this, watching her twitch beneath its power with tears streaming down her face, was enough to inspire Greyback. He _wanted_ her.

He caught up to her and grabbed her hair again. He pulled her head back sharply, just enough to let her see his smile before pushing it in the other direction, straight into the ground. He heard the thud as it hit dirt, and felt the energy leave the girl. She was stunned now, and starting to realize that she was powerless.

With a pleased snarl, Greyback turned Hermione over. She was still awake. Good. His claws snatched the folds of her coat. He ripped it open. Hermione seemed to realize this, as she started to feebly struggle. Greyback laughed and gave her the crucio curse again. Hermione screamed, her body convulsing beneath the curse. She kicked both legs rapidly, like a small child throwing a temper tantrum; it was sick to find that impossibly sexy, but Greyback was a sick man.

He grabbed her coat and pulled all the way off and discarded. Hermione didn’t yet realize what was going on, as she was still preoccupied with some lingering jolts of the curse. Greyback seized her shirt and tore it off of her, exposing a creamy set of shoulders and two pleasantly sized breasts, protected by a mere cotton bra. The crowd grew denser as news spread that Greyback was giving a show. He could smell all kinds of his lot now standing around. When Greyback slid a single claw under the fabric between Hermione’s breasts, the wolves started cheering. He pulled at the fabric and it snapped easy. A second later, Hermione’s pink nipples were stiffening in the winter breeze, completely exposed.

She shivered, and Greyback caught a tear slip from the corner of her eye. With a smile, he pointed his wand at her again, right up against her left nipple. She started to move and get away, but another wolf helped him out, and flattened her back against the ground. She was shaking as she tried to move, but her limbs were unable to break the curse they were put under.

"No!" She cried out, finally forming words. "You can’t do this!" Her powerful voice melted into a tiny quiver as she looked around, trying her hardest to move her arms to cover her body. "You can’t do this to me."

Greyback seized her delicate chin in his free hand. He slowly turned her face to his, forcing her to stare into his eyes. He wanted her to see into his soul. She resisted, but soon enough, her face melted into ugly sobs. The wolves all laughed, knowing the sight of a defeated woman.

"Engorgio," Greyback shouted, flicking his wand against her soft skin.

Hermione moaned and arched her back as her left breast started to swell. Like a woman’s body naturally does when pregnant, her breast lost its perky shape as it grew, but the size of it made up for it. Fenrir stopped it when her breast was too big to fit in his palm. He then did the same thing to her right one. Once they were both perfect, he pinched her nipples with his claws. She screamed, but it was a pitiful scream. Fenrir could hear the change in tone as he twisted, causing her body to react with pleasurable sensations. She gasped, shook her head, and tried kicking. Another wolf added his spell to the others, and her legs went flat against the ground.

"Stop strugglin’," the wolf added, as though instructions were necessary.

Fenrir conjured up a rope and tied them around her now voluptuous bosom. They were surrounded by trees, but Fenrir dragged Hermione by the rope until he found one of the perfect height. He then tied his end of the rope to the lowest branch. Physics were a wonderful thing, as gravity pulled the girl’s body one way, and the tightening ropes pulled her breasts in another. Hermione was now in tears, as her swollen boobs were squeezed until they started to turn purple.

The wolves followed Greyback and were now standing around him in a circle. He grabbed ahold of Hermione’s jeans and slowly unbuttoned them. Hermione started kicking and screaming “NO!”, but a quick silencing spell went out. Hermione closed her eyes as her body trembled; although Greyback loved hearing them, watching her pain was even better, so he gave the werewolf an approving nod. Greyback slid her pants the rest of the way down. He took them off with her shoes – simple canvas things – leaving her in only a thin pair of blue panties.

Greyback had her dangling at eye level, using her short height to his advantage. Because of this, he was able to step up to her and grab her head. He positioned her where her back was to him, and pressed the growing bulge in his pants right up against her. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her jump as he rammed his wand right where her clitoris was and started to push upwards, regardless of the panties. He started to move the wand in a circular motion. As he did this, he also let go of her hair and reached down to play with one of her breasts. She shivered as he did this, though Greyback didn’t know if it was because of the cold or from the loss of circulation, causing them to be delightfully sensitive. Hermione’s hips were swaying as she tried to get away from him, so he raised his wand up to her nipple.

"Crucio," Greyback whispered.

Hermione threw her head back. Greyback prepared for this and stepped aside. The spell was gone in an instant, but Hermione’s quivering remained. He then started playing with nipples again, feeling Hermione jerk backwards every time he twisted it just so.

"Just fuck her already!" A voice cried out.

Fenrir shot the direction of the voice a dirty look, but from amongst the faces of excited wolves, he couldn’t pinpoint an owner. Fenrir made a point of slowly and delicately removing her last article of clothing.

Hanging from her breasts and now completely naked, Hermione’s face was twisted into an ugly grimace. Greyback liked it. She had been on the run for some time, he could see, as she had a curly handful of brunette hair sitting above her lovely, youthful pussy. He gave her a quick feel with his fingers, pleased to find her lips to be silky smooth. By the way she was now violently struggling against him, he imagined she’d never made it this far with her ginger boyfriend.

He grabbed one of her legs at the thigh and pinned it back against the tree. He then thrust two fingers into her vagina. Hermione might have been resisting in her mind, but her body was reacting positively. He could feel the moistness as he wiggled his fingers, using them to stretch her slowly. She resisted, but the wolves around him started to shoot random spells at her. Ropes went everywhere, tying Hermione’s hands above her head, each leg as high up as they’d go on either side of her – until she was doing the splits – and adding elaboration to the bondage holding her to the trees. There were now ropes crossed under her breasts, making an X across her stomach, and digging into her thighs right at the hip. It strangely made her more beautiful, watching her become completely immobile. Fenrir pulled his fingers out and brought them to his nose, to smell her sweet sexual hormones.

"A virgin." This statement was met with a loud roar from the wolves. More pants dropped, and they started working on themselves, knowing Fenrir wasn’t going to share a virgin.

With a wicked grin, Fenrir undid his own pants; when his already endowed penis was free, he placed an engorgio charm on it as well. His body tingled, and his muscles burned as they suddenly stretched and swelled to unnatural proportions. When it got to where Fenrir could barely stand it, he stopped growing it.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and her could hear her breathing grow faster.

"Now you see," Fenrir purred.

The bonds held Hermione in place, but he could see her muscles twitching and watched as her mouth formed an “O” as he worked to slide his enlarged penis inside. His head wouldn’t go all the way inside of her, so he pulled out and tried to stretch her some more with his fingers. The third time he tried, her body took the whole head, but none of the shaft. Leaves went every which way as the captive tried to break the ropes with her strength alone, shaking them free.

He reached down to get to her clit, and feverishly starting rubbing. Hermione’s body was reacting as he’d hoped – natural lubrications allowed him to get up to a nice inch or two inside. Her hips bucked as they did, and the feeling was so good, it inspired him.

Again pointing his wand at her privates, he decided to try just _diffindo._ Greyback heard a ripping noise, and Hermione’s struggle finally ceased. He gave her credit: her spirit had remained strong through _crucio_ , multiple times. Blood splattered against the forest ground as her clit was torn in two, followed by a long gash all the way down to her vaginal canal. Greyback sighed contentedly as his girth was now able to freely go into Hermione up to the balls. She squeaked as his gonads slapped against her thighs. Her eyes were rolled up in her head, and her mouth was stuck in a silent scream for so long, some droll escaped out of the corner.

Fenrir could smell the mixture of blood and other fluids, and the animal inside of him liked it. The world around them didn’t seem to matter. Her body, even with certain pieces split open, was warm. It was like a velvet sheath for his impressive sword, slowly enveloping him. The pressure was building inside his penis, until he was so sensitive that he could feel everything – the tiny bumps and ridges from her wounds massaging him until he felt he was burst in record time.

He thrust until the blood from her wound started to gel. Not yet ready to spill but feeling all the softness become a sticky mess, he knew he had to stop for a moment. He pulled out long enough to cast a siphoning spell on the blood, then he re-entered.

 _Smack_ went his balls against her as he pounded her. A rhythm was building. In spite of the silencing charm, Hermione was now making a soft _ugn ugn ugn_ sound every time his penis was fully enclosed. His already swollen cock tightened inside of her, as he felt the end growing near. Greyback grabbed her hair but kept pumping as fast as he could.

He felt the need to come, to release, but wanted to hold out. He wanted her to experience him until she was numb. He wanted her to be subject to _his_ control, and not the needs of the body. She would not be relieved until _he_ said so.

Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to hold it in too long, Fenrir pulled out and then grabbed Hermione’s waist, angling her slightly in spite of her bonds. With a wicked smile, he thrust inside of her as hard as he could, throwing his hips forward until she was audibly striking against the tree. More leaves came dancing to the ground around them, casting shadows across Hermione’s face. One, two, three pumps in this manner, and his muscles tightened. He pulled on her hair as he came inside of her.

He was getting old and felt himself tire, but he wasn’t done with her. This wasn’t a proper torture session, he knew, but his men were waiting with the alleged Harry Potter, and he’d already wasted enough time just playing around.

A spell repaired all damage. Fenrir watched as her beautiful flesh sewed itself back together, seamlessly recreating the young, untouched vagina she had that morning. Fenrir couldn’t resist feeling around it once more, enjoying how soft it was. He cleaned her out completely, using a spell to eject the blood and semen. It clumped together at the base of the tree, and Fenrir no longer found it erotic to smell. It was… horrible. The moment was over.

The girl had passed out, though Fenrir didn’t know at what point. He took in her features as they were slack with the beauty of sleep; she was delicate, but quite elegant. Her lips were perfect, though chapped from being in the cold too long. Her cheeks were just so feminine, alluring. He clasped her face gently for a moment, admiring how perfectly the fit inside his hands was. She was a tiny little doll, made just for him.

Fenrir slapped Hermione, waking her back up. “Your turn, darling.”

Greyback didn’t know what inspired him, but he knew he couldn’t let her go. Not until she’d experienced _all_ of him. He crouched down until he was staring into her cunt. His fingers explored the pink folds, gentle and not at all like moments ago. Feeling her moisten again, Fenrir smiled. He moved his hand upwards until he could slide her clit between his index and middle finger. Using a technique he’d learned many moonlights ago, when he was still a teenager like herself, he began to massage the skin slowly. Hermione’s body shifted and she resumed crying, although Fenrir imagined it was now more in shame, as this wasn’t at all hurting her.

He moved his fingers back to her vagina. She was really wet now. Fenrir could easily slide two fingers in, so he did so. He then leaned forward and slid out his tongue. He had a rough texture, he knew; it was just like a dog’s. No woman had ever complained about it touching them, though, even when it was forced. Hermione gasped as he began to lick at her clitoris. He swirled his tongue around in circles, then gently bit down and even sucked on it a bit, but what Hermione liked most – he could tell by the way she was bucking forward and moaning, in spite of herself – was when he flicked just the tip of it and spread his fingers wide inside of it.

"Oh my!" Hermione said, breathlessly.

Hermione pulled up against her ropes, but that angled her more into his mouth. Not losing the moment, Fenrir used his free hand to hold her hips in that position. He turned away from cunningulus long enough to kiss her inner thighs. He sucked on them; biting slightly and listening to Hermione go from painful cries to sweet, high pitched groans of pleasure. He went back to her sensitive, silky skin and did the same thing, causing it to swell.

"Oh, oh, oh," Hermione repeated, not even realizing that the sound was escaping her every time Fenrir’s tongue made a complete circle.

She arched her back as she came, and Greyback smiled in victory. When he stood up and looked at her, though, there was no trace of pleasure in her expression. Instead, it was all shame. Silent tears fell from her eyes as Fenrir freed her. She didn’t struggle as he redressed her. As soon as she was presentable, Fenrir draped an arm around her.

Her hair no longer smelled like the ginger, or the trees, or her perfume. It now smelled like him. He was all over her, mingling in her pheromones. She would smell like him for days, but she would keep him, the memory of him, forever. She was _his_ , and she would never forget it.

"On three," He said softly, petting her hair. "One—two—three…"

The two Disapparated, right into the living room of the Malfoy Mansion.


End file.
